


Face Down

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [41]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Drowning, Gen, Greg Sanders Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Greg is attacked at a crime scene, Nick comes to his rescue.
Relationships: Greg Sanders & Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257824
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	Face Down

**Author's Note:**

> for gregszandles, who asked for some gratuitous Greg torture. (I don’t do enough with drowning whump tbh, I need to do more!)

A large amount of trust had been placed on Greg to work bigger cases, process larger rooms on his own as of late, which filled his heart with pride at the notion of how much he had grown as a CSI in the past year. He had come to realize that the menial tasks he had been charged with over the years prepared him for this, faced with a gymnasium sized room with no obvious signs of foul play to investigate. 

He had worked alone before, of course, yet he had always had the sense that Grissom was not too far away, eagle-eyed, hovering. But Grissom had rode back with Doc to the morgue, entrusted Greg to begin processing on his own, with the occasional check-in from a uniformed officer posted outside the door, and a promise that he would pull Nick in to help once he was out of court. 

He was sitting cross-legged in front of the large pool, sketching a map of the room. While the victim had been found down the hall in room 103, the blood trail had led the young CSI to the pool room, where the blood trail ended as it reached the water. 

More than likely, he posited that the victim was injured in the pool--intentionally or not, there only seemed to be small drops of blood rather than a stream, for all they knew, the victim could have just had a nosebleed--climbed out, bleeding, and walked back to his hotel room where he met his ultimate demise. 

He heard the sound of a door opening, from the shower room, and watched as a man walked out with a towel around his waist.

“Hey, man, sorry, the pool’s closed,” he called out before returning to his sketch and resuming his train of thought on what could have happened in the room. The blood trail had started on the other side of the room, where the wall was a glass one, comprised of windows to the courtyard where weddings took place--which Greg thought was odd, to have a pool room that could give a full view of what is meant to be a private, intimate ceremony, but he shrugged it off, it was Vegas afterall, the city of exhibitionism. As Greg watched a few men dressed in tuxedos sharing drinks and cigars, he can assume that there was a wedding a few hours ago, people have been in and out all day, surely someone would have noticed any foul play, lending more credit to his nosebleed theory. 

Still, he continued the sketch, as he was taught to assume nothing, that everything is important until it’s not. He looked up from his paper to get another look of the room, and he noticed something shine in the pool’s filter on the other side of the room. He put his pen and paper down, pulled on another pair of gloves--strange, he thought he had more in his kit sitting a few feet behind him--and began to walk the perimeter of the pool. He crouched down, pulled up his sleeve so he could reach his hand into the water, using one hand for leverage on the curved boundary of the pool--

He was both pulled back and thrust forward as a netted cloth wrapped around his head, his first instinct was to cry out for help, his vocal chords expanded with a shout but the sound was snuffed as he was slammed into the pool, and his open mouth was flooded with chlorinated water.

His arms and legs flailed--he tried to shake off the net around his head--he tried to push himself out of the water, but the net kept him down--tighter, as he had been able to break through to the surface for a precious second, in which there was a lightning fast exchange of pool water slurred with his own saliva dribbling out of his mouth, down his chin, as precious oxygen entered. He had just enough time to take a deep inhale, holding the minuscule amount of air within his body as he was pushed back into the pool. 

He opened his eyes, which was a mistake, as it nearly distracted him from his impromptu plan of reaching his hands behind him, his fingers had just barely made contact with the pole attached to the net, when the pole shook him off, and he felt water slosh up around him, inside of him--in his mouth, his lungs, his stomach, he swore he could even feel it in his brain--he swiveled around, to try and get a look at his attacker--although, what good would that do, he thought, because the chances of him getting out of this were slim to none, unless the drunken bachelor party were able to get a good look at the action inside of the room--and he caught a glimpse of the shiny object wedged in the pool filter, a watch, which was plucked by gloved hands. 

“No!” he gurgled. 

Another mistake, as the air he had kept inside, kept as a lifeline, had left his body as a bubble that rose in front of his eyes, and popped into the raging water that was kicked up from his hands as he tried to latch onto anything that wasn’t liquid slipping through his fingers. 

He once again tried to grab hold of the pole, with the intent of at least using it to yank his attacker into the pool with him, a plan which the attacker must have been able to infer from the quick tug Greg was able to perform, because he felt something stomp down on him, which broke his grip on the handle as his fist uncoiled--he flung it forward, found the edge of the pool, pulled himself forward, his feet finding footing on the walls of the pool, he tried to kick himself away--

He felt another blow, this time to his head, which disoriented him enough to lose his grip on the pool’s edge. He watched as a cloud of red expanded in front of his eyes, as his hands fell beneath him, his feet stopped kicking…

And he stopped breathing.

* * *

“Yo, G! What, you taking a break or something?” Nick chuckled as he entered the pool room to find Greg floating in the pool. 

Floating in the pool face down. 

“G-Greg?”

He dropped his kit, watched as Greg’s body drifted towards the center of the pool, pieced together that something must have happened--the drying water sprayed around the edge, the pool net drifting near Greg’s body, Greg’s body, Greg’s unconscious body--

He didn’t even bother stripping, dove into the pool without hesitation, quickly scooped Greg’s body in his arms, pushed him out of the pool and onto the floor. 

“HEY! WE NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!” Nick screamed at the top of his lungs, wishing he had at least taken out his cell phone before his dive. He began to do chest compressions on Greg, watching as his pale, lifeless body jostled back and forth. 

“C’mon, man, c’mon…” he muttered as he continued to do CPR, pinched Greg’s nose and pressed his red lips to Greg’s blue ones, a gesture that didn’t seem to work, the first time, at least.

“SOMEBODY! CALL 9-1-1!” he screamed before he tried again.

And again.

And again.

“Dammit, Greg, you can do this, come back, come back to me, please…” Nick pleaded as he kept up the chest compressions. 

“I need you,” he whispered before one final mouth-to-mouth attempt. 

An attempt, which to Nick’s surprise and absolute delight, worked. Greg began coughing up water, color returned to his face and Nick let out a heavy sigh of relief, patting his hand on Greg’s chest--gently, as Greg winced at the touch and Nick finally registered the cracking noise that he had pushed to the back of his mind as he worked to revive his friend.

“W-watch…” Greg moaned as Nick pulled him onto his lap. 

“Watch what, G?” 

“F-f-filter…” he sputtered. 

Nick shot a quick glance over the pool’s edge, the filter was clear. 

“Sorry, man, nothing’s there. Did you get a good look at the asshole who did this?” 

Greg shook his head, still coughing, his chin started to wobble. 

“C-couldn’t...breathe…”

Nick remained silent for a few moments, as he watched the water in the pool morph into dirt. 

“I know, G, but you can now. In…” he instructed as he grabbed Greg’s wrinkled hand, he peeled the glove off before he laced his fingers with Greg’s. Greg hissed in a sharp inhale, Nick grimaced as he was again reminded that he cracked at least one of his ribs, used a free hand to try and dig out his cell phone before he was reminded that it was soaked and non-functional. 

“And...out…” Nick told him, pushing his own deep exhale out of his body. He watched as Greg’s chest fell down, and Greg began to do the exercise on his own. “One of your ribs is cracked…”

“Not...your...fault…” Greg breathed.

“Yeah, G, that one is, I’m sorry. We gotta get you help--”

“Don’t leave...pluh-please…” Greg tightened his grip on Nick’s hand, used his other to grab Nick’s wet shirt, balled up in his fist, water squirted between his knuckles. Nick began to shiver, as the action which had kept him warm came to an end, and he felt cold, which means Greg must feel even colder. He shifted his position so that Greg was fully in his lap, wrapped up in Nick’s arms. 

“Never, Greg. I’m never going to leave you. I promise.” 


End file.
